


She Knows

by Liena67



Series: From the end a new beginning [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adlock, Crossover, F/M, Homicide, Love, Parentlock, Pregnant, Suicide, Thriller, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 22,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liena67/pseuds/Liena67
Summary: This long story is the fourth long in the series but it is also the first of a particular crossover between Sherlock and special agent Aloysius Pendergast, protagonist of a series of books written by Preston & Child, which has many similarities with Sherlock.We find Miki, Eleonor, Alex, but there are some news coming in the life of Sherlock and Irene and a special case that risks becoming an unsolved case for Sherlock, but that also threatens to completely upset his life.





	1. An unexpected gift

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born from two oneshot, the first became the first chapter, the second is that with Pendergast.
> 
> When I wrote these oneshot, many of my readers asked me and urged me to write a mystery with Sherlock and Pendergast, and then the two oneshot became part of the story.
> 
> According to most of those who have read and reviewed my stories in Italy, this seems to be the best, as a thriller but also for the greater introspection of the characters
> 
> I thank Francesca_Wayland and her stories, because she inspired me surely, stimulating me to go deeper into the thoughts and dynamics of the characters
> 
> Have fun and enjoy reading

**London - Baker Street - 24 December 2019 - 5.00 p.m.**  
  
Who knows why on Christmas Eve, in London, there are never any interesting cases. Almost as if even criminals or serial killers were infected by this incomprehensible euphoria, made of smiles, lights, sweets and saccharine songs everywhere. Sherlock sighs after checking the mail and the blog for the umpteenth time. Clearly disappointed by the absence of crimes or mysteries to solve, he closes the laptop on the desk and returns to sit in his chair. He looks at the time, just five o'clock in the afternoon, only ten hours after he has closed a case, but for him it is as if ten years have passed. The fireplace is lit and on the mat Rosie, who grows visibly, plays with a series of wooden toys scattered in front of her. Her living room, as usual and despite his protests, was decorated for Christmas Eve by Mrs. Hudson. In front of him John is seated in his chair and reads the sports news in the newspaper. Just because they are the only pages that Sherlock left him, hoping to find something interesting that escaped the internet and Scotland Yard.

"Maybe in the sports news I might have missed something, maybe I should also requisition those pages John" he tells his friend drumming with his hands from the tapered fingers on the arm of the chair, a symptom of his current impatience.  
"Stop Sherlock, it's been ten hours since your last case, you should find something to distract you, but not necessarily a case" John replies without even raising his eyes from the newspapers "maybe you two could talk and clarify, it would be much better for all" he adds in the same tone.

Sherlock looks at his friend and at his last words just raises an eyebrow. His phone resting on the table by his side at that moment emits a sound, that particular sound, a hint of female moan, which in all these years he has never wanted to change.

John looks up from the newspapers and sighing as he watches his friend take the phone to read the message.  
"What does she say?" He asks in a tone that seems resigned.

"She tells me to take a nicotine patch to calm me down," Sherlock answers dryly before sliding his fingers over the keyboard to answer. Send the message and put the phone on the table, he looks back at John.

At that moment a sound is heard, a brief mention of a piece of music emitted by a violin, which announces the arrival of a message on a telephone on the other side of the living room.

John looks up at the sky with a clearly disconsolate look and turns to the other part of the living room where, sitting comfortably on the sofa with her legs stretched out on the pillows, Irene is reading the message Sherlock has just sent her. Her blue eyes half open and almost seem to be the color of the deepest oceans as she responds to the message. She then closes the phone and picks up the book she was reading from the womb.

Sherlock's phone again emits that sound and at that moment John suddenly closes the newspaper almost throwing it on the table.  
"I cannot stand you two any more, I tell you, or you come back to talk each other like two adults or I swear I will seize the phones ... at least you could remove the ringtone, this thing becomes torture".

Sherlock reads the message just arrived and snorts closing it without answering.  
"I would avoid talking about torture in her presence, remember that she is a teacher in these things," he replies, only nodding for a smile.

A new message from Irene makes him pick up the phone again to read it.  
"What does she still say?" John asks resignedly.  
"That's not with a compliment that I will forgive" Sherlock answers putting the phone back on the table.

"But can I know what you've done to make her so angry?" The friend asks him.  
"Nothing for which I should be forgiven," Sherlock answers without even breaking away when he hears Irene place the book heavily on the floor.

He turns then slowly and fixes his gaze on hers. They say nothing and their eyes openly challenge each other in a silent battle. Steps from the stairs announce the arrival of someone and only when Miki enters the living room Sherlock detaches his eyes from those of Irene.

John looks at the little boy who has been part of their lives for almost two years. Now it is almost as tall as he and that black bandage on the eye, the brown hair always worn a bit long and rebellious, they are turning him into a charismatic teenager, thanks to that look of his only eye that always seems to see and know much more than what a boy of his age normally comes to understand.

"Hello everyone" he says, entering and in one moment he seems to have understood everything that was happening until just before he arrived.  
"Hi Miki, welcome, how are you? It's been a while since you've come to see us, look at Rosie as she is happy to see you," John tells him as he watches him approach the carpet and picks up Rosie who stands up on her legs to meet him.  
"Hi John, all right, I just came back from an interview with an Oxford professor, but I still have not decided whether to agree to go there or to another college". He answers him then going to the kitchen with Rosie in his arms.  
"I still cannot believe you can already go to college," John says to himself, remembering that he is only thirteen and that until eleven, having spent all his childhood prisoner of a gang of organ traffickers, he could not even read. Of course, he has an intelligence above the norm but also grow with Sherlock and Irene, who have now formally adopted him, however crazy and complicated they are both, only stimulates his ability to learn.

"Oxford could be useful for some things but tremendously boring. But you could finish the course of study in just over a year and move on to something more interesting," Sherlock says.

Shortly thereafter a new message from Irene announced by its usual tone.  
"Oh my God, it's enough! What does she say now?" John asks dejectedly.  
"To let him live his life as a teenager and decide what he wants to do with his life independently" Sherlock sighs and does not have time to respond that another message arrives "and before you ask me John, now she told me that the world it does not revolve around me ".

He then closes the phone and returns to watch Irene.  
"I never thought of it," he now says in a resolute tone.  
"You do it all the time," she replies in the same tone.  
"Oh God... at least now you talk each other... can I know what the heck happened?" John looks at them passing his eyes from one to another while Miki, without saying anything, came back from the kitchen with biscuits and now sat with Rosie on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

"Your friend here gave me a present" answers Irene, arms crossed, without looking away from that of Sherlock.  
"Ah, however, a very serious offense this" John's tone is sarcastic and almost exasperated.  
"He gave me a trip to Paris for us for Christmas, a travel and hotel booking for five days, this was his gift" Irene still answers, looking for a moment John.  
"Ah, now I understand," John answers, looking at his friend with a sigh.

Sherlock turns to John, noting his change of tone.

"What do you understand? Are you by any chance able to explain to me why this gift should be considered an offense?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. The fact that certain dynamics escapes him completely and instead John is perfectly able to understand them, always surprises him.

"You've booked a trip to Paris," John tells him.  
"Yes, right".  
"You have chosen the place".  
"I was sure she liked it".  
"But you chose and decided when".  
"Yes, of course... oh... wait... that's the problem," Sherlock finally answers. He then turns to Irene, who is watching him.

"Do not assume that my life revolves around you, Sherlock Holmes. The trip to Paris is a nice gift but I have commitments, there are not only your cases and your work" Irene says with the same resolute tone as before.  
"I do not take it for granted and you know it well, the trip was booked," he replies with a sigh.  
"We could book it together by choosing dates together. I could have commitments on those dates," she adds.  
"You do not have any".  
"And how do you know?".  
"Why did you mark all your appointments on the kitchen calendar at our house and you did it just to let me know when you were free... remember?".

Irene does not answer but keeps watching until she just bites a lip and sighs.

"Ok, game for Sherlock, four peers" Miki's voice interrupts the silence that had been created.

Irene looks up at the sky, picking up her book from the ground, Sherlock smiles for a moment and John now looks at Miki with a very perplexed look.

"What does it mean? Is it a race?".  
"Always... and I am the judge... this time I would say that he won Sherlock" Miki replies without even looking up from the game he is building for Rosie.  
"Are you sure you do not want to come back to live with me, Rosie and Eleonor? I think these two can put a strain on anyone," John asks, shaking his head.  
"Do you Joke? I would not lose this fun for anything in the world" Miki replies with a slightly ironic but sincerely amused tone.

At around 7 pm, the 221B drawing room has now been filled. Mrs. Hudson took possession, like every Christmas, of Sherlock's armchair. John sitting in his chair plays with Rosie holding in his arms. Molly in the kitchen with Miki is finishing preparing the dinner table that both she and Eleonor have prepared.

Lieutenant Eleonor Mendoza has been honing his culinary skills since she lives with John, although usually John always cooks at home, and tonight she wanted to try a recipe that Mrs. Hudson taught her.

In the living room Greg has already opened a bottle of prosecco that is pouring into everyone's glasses. Alex, Irene's brother, fills two glasses and brings one to Molly, kissing her gently and then smiling at the redness that inevitably appears on her face and every time that happens, even today after more than a year they are engaged, he feels the heart that loses a beat.

Sherlock has finished playing a piece on his violin and now sits next to Irene on the couch. The woman, even though she smiles, seems perhaps still angry, because she did not want to drink the prosecco he brought her. He looks at her for a few moments then with an arm on her shoulders, he draws her to him, leaving a kiss on her forehead. She sighs in his neck and smiles, feeling her now more relaxed.

The hours pass quickly and dinner as the exchange of gifts turns out to be cheerful and relaxed, despite the puffs of Sherlock and his continuous clarifications on what are the real and historical origins of these traditions.  
About eleven o'clock all leave the 221B, except for Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock now lives with Irene and Miki in Eaton Square and both he and John use the 221B as a studio to receive clients or work on cases.

Once in Eaton Square, Miki goes upstairs to go to his room followed by Sherlock. Irene's games room has become her studio since, three weeks ago, she decided not to carry out her activity as a dominatrix, but to teach, to those who are interested and have the stuff and the potential, how it becomes a dominator or dominatrix by profession. Few selected clients willing to pay a fortune to know from her the tricks of the trade. What was the room of her assistant Kate, when she met Sherlock, became Miki's room. On the opposite side of the corridor is the master bedroom where Sherlock is about to head after giving the boy goodnight. He did not even take two steps to hear Irene's voice coming from downstairs.

"Sherlock Holmes and Miki Adler Holmes ... come down for a moment I have to talk to you". The two, look at each other for a moment.  
"If she calls us by first and last name it's not a good sign," Miki says.  
"No, it is not at all. Did we do anything?" Sherlock answers, narrowing his eyes.  
"I do not think so" the boy replies "but it will be better not to let her wait" he adds, moving to get down the stairs again followed by Sherlock. When they arrive in the kitchen they find Irene busy preparing a chamomile, which is unusual for her

"So, guys, I wish the thing was extremely clear. I will tell you only once and I hope I do not have to repeat it" her voice is calm and decisive and they both know that it is better to listen to her before saying anything. Irene turns to the two and with her cup of chamomile sits at the large table in the middle of the kitchen. She looks at them for a few moments before taking a sip.  
"I would like... better... I demand from both the complete collaboration. I'm not going to do it alone, so I want you to promise me now that you'll do everything you need to do" Irene ends up talking and after looking at them for a long time, she takes her cup in her hands and takes another sip.

"I do not know what you're talking about, but whatever it is, you know that we'll help you" Sherlock responds instinctively trying to decipher her expressions, but sometimes Irene is indecipherable to him.  
"Do what you do best Sherlock... think," she answers with an enigmatic smile.

Sherlock watches her and squinting, concentrating on all the nuances she has observed, but which always seem to elude him when it comes to her. Her constant change of mood in the last weeks, the decision to transform her dominatrix activity, the reaction to the booking of the trip to Paris for February, the prosecco she did not want to drink tonight, the chamomile that she has always hated and that now it seems to drink with taste. The deduction is so simple that he would slap him for not understanding it before. He opens his eyes for a moment and only a faint "Oh" comes out of his lips.

"I still miss something" Miki says looking at Sherlock who seems to have understood.  
"It seems that another Adler Holmes boy will be part of our life Miki" Sherlock responds with a whisper without looking away from Irene, while Miki immediately smiles at his words having now understood what it is.  
"Another girl... that's another girl please, I do not want to find myself surrounded only by men," Irene replies, continuing to drink her chamomile.  
"This is really... unexpected," Sherlock murmurs.  
"Sometimes it happens you know, you have to understand if it's an unexpected gift or just unexpected for you," she says, looking at him with those intense blue eyes that now seem to want to read them inside.

Sherlock looks at her for a few moments before speaking.  
"See how an Adler Holmes grows? Do you Joke? I would not lose it for anything in the world... even if the thought at the same time terrifies me" he replies with a slight smile.  
"We are both terrified then, but luckily we have Miki and John to help us" Irene answers, smiling at Miki before returning to watch Sherlock "consider it as my Christmas present" she adds "Merry Christmas Sherlock".


	2. Chapter 2

**London - Camden Town - 24 December 2019 - 9.00 p.m.**  
  
Far from the splendor of the monarchical buildings and the luxury shopping streets, Camden Town is the reference point for those who want to know the most alternative London, thanks to its identity a bit out of the box. Living in this area of London is a bit like living in a parallel world, but that reserves quiet streets with beautiful houses.

The evening of Christmas Eve is the evening that always in his family is expected with greater pleasure. It is the evening when everyone meets, the evening dedicated to the family, that family that accompanies him since he was a child, full of cousins and cousins, uncles and aunts who came to London only for the Christmas holidays.

For him, who grew up as an only child, Christmas Eve has always been a magical evening, because that table full of people is something that in his daily life could never see.

Now he is no longer a child, now he is forty-five, he has two teenage children, a wife who has turned into a pleasant forty-year-old girl as a young beautiful woman, now Julian Norton no longer feels the loneliness that has accompanied him for almost all of his childhood. And yet, even today, the evening of Christmas Eve is almost sacred to him. Even today he makes sure that his house is filled with cousins and nephews, because it would not be Christmas if it were not so.

Julian Norton, sitting at the desk of the study on the top floor of his house, now looks at that box in front of him. He opens it with trembling hands and observes that ready syringe with his serum. For two days every night he takes it from the drawer of his desk, the one that keeps closed with a combination where he also puts all the private documents of his work as a lawyer, who often brings with him from the office. It's two nights that he opens that case and looks at the syringe. He knows that it is the right thing to do, the one that would give less problems to his family, which would free them from unnecessary pain and suffering, but does not decide to do it.

After the holidays, he promises himself every night. But after the holidays it could be late, because everything could explode at any moment, the beginning of an unstoppable decline that would then prevent him from doing the right thing. It would be the worst Christmas present for his family.

Julian Norton sighs and with a trembling hand takes the syringe and the tourniquet from the box. He hears the voices of his sons and his wife coming from the kitchen and downstairs hall, he hears the bell ringing for the arrival of the first guests.

He smiles, remembering that he does it for them, only for them. He ties the tourniquet to the arm, after lifting the sleeve of the shirt, and with a last sigh he injects the lethal substance into the vein.

A few moments and the heart stops, the darkness clouds his mind and Julian can only think that the sound of his sweet wife's laughter is the most beautiful music he has ever heard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Holmes Residence - 25 December 2019 - 12.00 a.m.**  
  
It is not the first time that Irene goes to lunch with Sherlock's parents, yet every time it seems strange to her, unusual for her, as if it were the life of another woman and not hers. A life in which there is not only her and her brother Alex, her only family until two years before, but a life, this, in which Sherlock has filled every empty space of her heart and with whom he has brought an army almost of people, which are now part of the world of Irene. And every time, even if not so often, that a lunch is organized at the Holmes residence, Irene seems to realize it, as if it were the first time. Yet she does not feel suffocated, and this is what marvels most of all. Perhaps because each of them, starting with John up to Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Eleonor, Sherlock's parents, seem to have accepted her without any problem. Apart from Mycroft of course. He, at least in appearance, never fails to show his clear disappointment at the presence of Irene in the life of his brother. But this does not create any problems, on the contrary it is fun to be able to always find a way to irritate him.

Lost in these thoughts, as she looks out the car window, she listens to Sherlock's warm voice at her side talking to Miki sitting in the back seat.

"I think I would like to study law and it would be a good basis for a career in the police" Miki's voice now distracts her from the landscape.

Sherlock snorts raising his eyes to the sky to hear the words of the boy.  
"Please, you're too smart to be a cop, you can do a lot more," he answers, looking at him for a moment through the rearview mirror.

"Eleonor is a good policewoman and her work is very important. I want to make myself useful, to help, as she does," Miki replies, firmly supporting his gaze. When he met the detective for him he was like a beacon, a guide, the best friend. He loved him immediately, without even realizing it. But in recent times now he considers him as a father, the father he never had during his first eleven years of life. And like all children growing up he begins to have his ideas, which do not always match those of Sherlock.

"Eleonor is a smart woman and much smarter than ninety-nine percent of her male colleagues. But you do not have to be a policeman to help people... which is not always worth helping them" Sherlock replies.

Irene at his side chuckles, thinking that this part of his sociopathic character, even if in the improved years, never ceases to amuse her.

"Eleonor deals with minor Sherlock... maybe helping them is not bad," Miki replies from behind without a break.  
"Well yes... in this case maybe yes. But this is not the point. I just want to say that with your skills you should not stop at a policeman's career, let alone decide it now. Study jurisprudence if you want to do it, but not only that... then decide how best to use your skills... only so you will really help people," Sherlock concludes, turning into the long driveway that leads to his parents' house.

"Good guys. Leaving out now the future of Miki, that you will have time to continue to discuss it, let's deal with a nearer future. Sherlock... how are you going to tell him?"  
"Say what?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.  
"Oh, let's go. They knew about me from blogs. They knew we were getting married from the news, during my lawsuit. They knew that they had become Miki's adoptive grandparents for texting. At least this time do we want to tell them, in a nice way, that they are going to become grandparents a second time?" Irene asks smiling.

Sherlock stops the car in the driveway, almost in front of the gate, just behind those of the other guests who have already arrived. Then he turns to Irene noting the serenity of her gaze and those clear eyes that seem to have a light even more intense than usual.  
"All right, I'll look for a nice way to say it... as far as I can at least" he sighs.  
"Good boy," Irene tells him, arranging a rebel curl "now let's go, they are waiting for us" she adds, caressing his cheek with a finger before getting out of the car.

Mycroft Holmes standing in front of one of the windows overlooking the courtyard. He watched Sherlock walk down the driveway of the house holding Irene by the hand, while Miki walked by his side. The ice man reflects that almost two years have passed since their relationship really began and they still did not get tired. What amazes him more than he wants to admit. He was certain that Irene, the dominatrix, would soon grow weary, as he was certain that his brother would soon be back to devote his full attention to the cases alone, that particular drug that his mind can never do without. And yet they are still there, together, despite everything and against all odds. Two persons among the most intelligent, tenacious and stubborn that he knows, which could annihilate each other at any moment and that only for some strange miracle they have not yet done so. Mycroft sighs resignedly, knowing that making brother's reason is now impossible, but to worry about him is something he cannot do without, because he is his only weakness, the only crack in that heart of stone as hard as granite that he has.

"The happy little family has arrived... they wait almost as long as the royals," he tells his father, intent on preparing the aperitifs on the bar sideboard.  
"Do not be jealous of your brother Mycroft," his father tells him, going to the front door to welcome the new arrivals.  
"But please dad... I'm not jealous" he exclaims, sighing and raising his eyes to the sky, before taking a glass of wine.

His father meanwhile opened the door warmly saluting, as is his habit, the couple, regardless of their embarrassment, and then embrace Miki who reciprocates with the same affection instead.

Sherlock observes that Miki has no fear of showing his emotions and mentally thanks John and Eleonor's positive influence on him.

"Your mother is in the kitchen and the others have already arrived... you find them there in the dining room" his father says, going to the living room where a large table was prepared already, full of fragrant dishes.

Sherlock and Miki enter first by greeting Greg, Molly and Alex, John and Eleonor and Mrs. Hudson. Behind them comes Irene smiling and from the kitchen at that moment also comes the mother of Sherlock with a plate of freshly made bacon, that fills the room with a delicious smell.  
"Oh, good guys arrived. We are already almost ready for lunch but, in the meantime, we can have an aperitif," she says, placing the plate in the center of the table not far from Irene, who suddenly turns pale as a sheet. Her eyes are closed, she puts her hand in front of her mouth and mumbles something runs off towards the bathroom.

After a few moments of complete surprise and silence Sherlock takes the bacon dish from the table and delivers it to Miki.  
"Take it away... as far as possible" he tells him as everyone now looks at him without understanding.

"But what happens Sherlock? Is Irene bad? " his father asks, with a surprised and worried expression.  
"Yes... no... she's not bad... she's very good indeed. Here... it's the _"nice"_ way she decided to tell you," Sherlock replies giggling, before moving towards the corridor to reach her.  
"Tell us what Sherlock?" John asks, narrowing his eyes, moving his gaze from him to Miki, now back from the kitchen.  
"That we are going to have a child... or rather a daughter... she said she wants a daughter and I would advise you not to contradict her at the moment" Sherlock answers from the corridor, before disappearing completely from their sight.

"Oh… for God charity... from the pan in the embers," Mycroft exclaims, raising his eyes to the sky while everyone else, after the first few minutes of surprise, burst into a happy laugh, congratulating then with the new grandparents Holmes.


	4. Chapter 4

**London - London Bridge - 3 January 2020 - 11.30 p.m.**  
  
Walking along the London bridges on a cold but not humid evening can be pleasant. Sometimes Kevin, after a business dinner or with friends, decides to walk back alone to the house, to enjoy this partially silent night-time London.

The London Bridge, which joins the financial district of La City to Southwark, is among his favorites, because it is not very busy at that time and he can thus walk quietly, enjoying the view of the Thames that flows placid and deep beneath it.

Tonight, however, Kevin is not quiet and even the walk reassures him. It does not come from a dinner with friends or business or from a gallant meeting. He has eaten his favorite dishes at home, strictly ordered by his customary restaurateurs. He is dressed in the suit he prefers, took only the document holder, leaving the keys and money at home, and left the house with a precise destination.

Now, having reached the center of the bridge, he observes this city where he was born and raised. On the one hand, the financial district, where he has been working successfully for three years, making him a young man of twenty-five years with great promises. On the other, the center of London and its clubs, that he loves to frequent with his friends.

At the age of twenty-five, Kevin has always seen a future full of successes, of amorous adventures, thinking that one day one of these adventures would have become something more important, who knows. Nothing seemed to obscure his dreams, nothing until a few days ago.

Now everything has changed, everything is black, dark, with no way out, no promise of happiness or salvation. His path at any moment will turn into a path of pain, for him as well as for his family and his friends. Nothing makes more sense. Nothing is more valuable.

Kevin looks around looking at the couple on the other side of the bridge and the old man with his dog, walking towards him. He buttons up his coat by arranging it for good. He takes the document holder from his pocket and rests it on the parapet of the bridge. He always had a lean and agile physique and jumping on the parapet for him is a joke.

He has never suffered from vertigo and has always thought about doing skydiving. In a sense it will be like doing it, he thinks in those few moments when he flies down from the bridge, before ending up in the icy and deep water of the Thames.


	5. Chapter 5

**London - Baker Street - 5 January 2020 - 5.00 p.m.**  
  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes John, I'm sure"  
"But there's no chance?"  
"No John, I've already told you, now let me finish this experiment because if not carefully to the substance in the container, I risk of making a hole on the table and I do not think Mrs. Hudson would be happy" Sherlock finally answers, pouring the liquid in the test tube which then carefully closes it by placing it in a box with others.

John sighs in resignation, while standing on the other side of the kitchen table of 221B, now transformed into a stable laboratory, observes Sherlock finish his experiment and remove gloves and goggles.  
"I do not understand why you do not want to give your son the name of John" the friend still insists.  
"Because it's not a feminine name," Sherlock answers, looking up at the sky before moving to the living room and taking a seat in his chair.

John follows him going to sit as always in front of him.  
"But you do not know yet if your son will be male or female... you could at least take it into consideration" he says with a snort, but with an ironic tone, determined not to give up the game of names with which he is provoking him since he knew he would become a father. Actually, John had already seen the paternal side of Sherlock born with the meeting with Miki. But the thought of seeing him struggling with a newborn, his and Irene’s son, amuses him immensely, even if he can only be happy to see that over time the friend has been able to face and live his emotions, that for a lifetime he had instead repressed.

"We will know shortly and will be female. If Irene wants a girl, I believe that even simple chemistry does not dare disobey her," Sherlock replies with an ironic smile.  
"Yes, as for this in fact I can only give you reason" John says giggling.

At that moment someone knocking on the entry door downstairs and Mrs. Hudson opens the door.

Sherlock listens attentively to the fast and determined steps on the stairs.  
"Greg, did you bring me an interesting case? If it is not at least a nine, I will not even consider it" he says even before Inspector Lestrade appears on the door.  
"Maybe Sherlock, maybe it's a ten or maybe it's nothing. I cannot even tell you if it's a coincidence, but I'd like you to have a look," Greg tells him as he enters the living room with a briefcase under his arm.

Saluting John with a nod of his head, he approaches Sherlock and hands him the folder, so he takes a chair and places it between the two armchairs, as all the customers do when they come to ask for their help.

Sherlock takes out the documents and photos by placing them on the table.  
"Suicides... I see that over the years you've learned something Greg. I was wondering when you would have realized that something was not coming" he almost murmur to himself.

John takes some photos and flips through the coroner documents of four suicides that took place from Christmas, the last one that very morning. The first found in his house on Christmas Eve with a syringe in his arm. Died from overdose of a cardiopathic medicine poisoning. The second was thrown from a bridge, three days before, the third man found in his apartment hanged on a beam of the ceiling the day before and the last, this morning, he threw himself under a subway train.

"Suicides increase during holiday periods. The holidays increase the depressive states" John comments putting the sheets on the table.  
"Correct observation John, but this statistic is above the norm. Four suicides in eleven days and the last three days later. No, something does not come back" Sherlock answers, reaching his hands under his chin as he observes all the information he finds from the photos and other documents.

"It's what I had thought in fact, but it could also be a coincidence" Greg says talking to both "not to mention the fact that a serial killer of the suicides we already had, the woman in pink, do you remember?"

"There are no coincidences Greg, you should know. And there are emulators, so a second suicide serial killer could also exist. Moreover, none of these suicides left tickets or something similar to motivate their choice. All men of different ages and work but all men of professional and private success. Apparently, it would seem there is no reason. We must investigate their lives and understand why they did it or at least if there is a reason" Sherlock says.

Getting up, he then takes the photos of each of them and with the points he places on a map of London in the exact point where the suicides have decided to end their lives. Then hang the plant by attaching it to the wall above the sofa and then look at it for a few minutes.

"Has a new game started?" Irene's voice behind him makes him turn. His mind and senses had registered her arrival, though distracted by the case he is starting to study.  
"I really think so," he replies with a smile as Greg and John also get up now approaching the map "and I think it will be a nice ten".  
"Oh... it's been a while since you had a ten... it will be fun then," Irene tells him with a look of curiosity.

Sherlock turns for a moment to look at her, feeling the adrenaline rush for the new case to flow into his body and mingle with a sudden desire for her. The only person like him who can dare to think, and say aloud, that a case of suicide-murder is fun.

"Yes, I really think it will be" he replies returning to look at the map "Greg let me have all the information on the life of these men. John tomorrow we go to Molly to view the corpses and then on the places of suicides" he then added turning to the two friends.

"Well, Sherlock, I'm going to work right away. As soon as I have something, I'll send it to you," Greg says, before almost leaving the apartment.

"I'm going home then. I organize with Eleonor and the surgery to be free tomorrow. See you in the morning by Molly" John tells him, before greeting Irene and leaving the 221B too.

Left alone Sherlock closes the door of the apartment and then goes to the table, where he takes the rest of the documents that settles on the sofa at each photo.

Irene approaches reading the various reports, looking at photos of men and causes of death.  
"If they had happened after some time, no one would have noticed the lack of a ticket and the apparent lack of reason" she comments starting to take an interest in the case.  
"I have to warn you of something," Sherlock tells her, looking at her.  
"What?" She asks him raising an eyebrow "if you're going to tell me to stay home quiet because I'm pregnant, I could have very unpleasant reactions," she then adds, with eyes that could electrocute anyone right now.  
"Maybe it could be nice," he replies with a slight smile, holding her gaze.  
"Stop it... I'm serious about, Sherlock. I'm not sick. I'm just pregnant. Thousands of women work almost to the birth," she reiterates firmly.  
"I know well. In fact, it was not what I meant to tell you. I would never deprive me of your help," Sherlock answers as he approaches her.  
"Oh good. Better for you... or worse... this is yet to be seen," Irene tells him in a less harsh tone of voice as she watches him approach.  
"What I wanted to warn you... was that I have a crazy desire for you right now" he whispers, placing his hands on her hips pulling her towards him until he feels their bodies brush against each other "so I hope that the doctor told you today that's all right" he adds, touching with one hand the belly of her that only now begins to change its shape slightly.

Irene smiles, raises a hand with her fingers digging in his curls behind the nape and with sweet firmness attracts him until their lips touch each other for a long time and gently.  
"It's all right" she whispers between kisses and another, until their tongues meet and the kiss becomes more sensual and deep.

Sherlock would like to hold her tight, but he dares not do it and Irene senses it. Slowly she pulls away from him, takes him by the hand and takes him to his chair.  
"Sit down Sherlock" she tells him with a sensual smile and that look that always makes him shiver.

Sherlock sits down and watches her get her dress up to her waist before positioning herself on top of him.

Irene takes his face in her hands and kisses him feeling his hands caressing her legs and buttocks and cannot hold back a slight moan that is lost on his lips.  
"Mr. Holmes... if this were the last night of the last day of the world... would you like to have dinner with me?" she asks in a whisper.  
"Why should I have dinner... if I'm not hungry... Miss Adler?" He replies with a smile, remembering those same words when they met and that one short moment when they were alone in that room.

"Well ... and I hope that this time Mrs. Hudson will not interrupt us" she tells him, returning to kiss him.  
"I locked the door".  
"Good boy".


	6. Chapter 6

**London - police station - homicide section - 3 February 2020 - 3.00 pm**  
  
On the wall of Greg Lestrade's office, a large blackboard has taken the place of the photos he had begun collecting in recent years. In one photo the inspector and his team smiles blissfully, having in his arms a big pike of almost fifteen kilos, caught during a trip and a fishing trip in the south of England, in another picture shaking hands with the head of the police, after closing a case brilliantly, in another still raises a mug of beer, sitting at the counter of the pub, where they all meet up at night at the end of the shift and finally in one he appears along with Sherlock and John, while leaving a home where a murder had just been committed.

This last picture is the one that Sherlock almost never bears to see, snorting every time he sees himself portrayed with that funny hunting hat. Now all those beautiful photos are piled up on his desk, while on the blackboard other photos, less pleasant to see, of victims and places of homicide, are pointed and joined together by a series of threads of different colors.

Together with Sherlock, standing at his right side and John at his left side, Greg stares at all the connections trying to find a logical sense, but nothing suggests a direct contact between the victims or even indirect.  
"I was hoping that rebuilding the facts as you do in Baker Street could help me, but sincerely Sherlock, it just seems to watch one of those strange abstract pictures of Pollok," Greg says sadly returning to his desk.  
"I see that going out with the new attorney's assistant is bringing you at least to increase your artistic knowledge" Sherlock answers, continuing to look at the blackboard.  
"Are you going out with the prosecutor's assistant?" John asks, turning to Greg, looking surprised because he did not know anything about it "and you from since do you know this?" he adds, looking back at Sherlock.  
"For about half an hour, that is since I entered here and I recognized the perfume of that woman. But the smell comes from Greg's coat and not from the office. It follows that he must have embraced her. Difficult to have done it just to thank you for the work done, don’t you think?" Sherlock answers with an air absorbed without taking his eyes off the blackboard.

John returns to look at Greg who looks up at the sky and both sigh resignedly, knowing that it is mathematically impossible to hide something from their friend.  
"Alright then. Now let's talk about something serious... what about Janette?" John asks again trying to get Sherlock's attention that seems lost in thought.

The detective's clear eyes narrow for a moment.  
"Discarded... she does not like it... and Miki does not like it either" he answers looking for a moment John.  
"All right, then… Janine? What do you think?" John asks again with an amused smile.

Sherlock turns to him, eyes widening for a moment.  
"As Irene is certainly an intelligent woman and far from any kind of stupid jealousy, especially retroactive... if you do not want to cry again on my grave, I would say that it would be better to avoid calling our daughter… Janine" he answers seriously, before leaving escape a slight ironic smile.

John chuckles at his answer and is about to add something else but Greg's voice on the phone, rather altered, attracts the attention of both.

"What would it be like to say? But what do they have to do in this case? No, I'm not angry, I'm furious! They're just nosy presumptuous and arrogant in general and I do not want them to bite my case!" Greg almost screams the last few sentences on the phone before slamming him down hard. Then with a gesture of irritation he sits at his desk and opens the drawer where he keeps cigarettes and whiskey. He looks at them for a while, then suddenly slams the drawer angrily puffing.

"What happens? Who was on the phone? Will it be Mycroft?" John asks, looking at both Greg and Sherlock.  
"My brother has no reason to be interested in this case John, I do not think is him and therefore our government that want to interfere with our investigations" Sherlock answers as he approaches the desk.  
"In fact, they are those damned Americans. From the upper floors they told me that the feds are interested in the case," Greg still snorts back, "and I do not understand why. It is true that one of the victims is American, but I did not think it was a character so important as to move the feds" he adds with a tone now resigned.  
"I do not believe either. Evidently something else has moved their interest, and since we are already at the sixth murder-suicide, and that I would really like to avoid this case ending up among the few unresolved mine, it will be good to hear what they have to say. Maybe something interesting comes out," Sherlock answers without breaking up.  
"Yes, I guess you're right. All right then let's go upstairs. They seem to be waiting for us in the boss's office," Greg answers, rising from his chair to leave his office followed by Sherlock and John.

The offices of the upper floor are completely different style than those of the various sections, where all of them work sometimes even without a break. The long corridors are quiet and with little traffic. The doors, all strictly made of wood with gold plates, are always closed and with no part of glass to show their interior, as are many of the offices on the lower floors, including that of Greg. When the inspector goes up to this floor he seems to be going back in time, when he was recalled to the room of the principal of the college, where he studied for some time. And it is with the same feeling of annoyance mixed with awe that now he is about to knock on the door of the department head.

The baritone voice of Chief Fhilippe Jordan from inside the office invites them to enter. Greg opens the door and enters the large office followed by Sherlock and John.  
"Oh well, here you are Lestrade. And I see that as always you have company" the head Jordan tells him, hinting a smile that looks more like a grimace of disappointment in seeing that detective who just cannot stand, despite knowing how much his help is important in solving certain cases.

Sherlock does not seem to have grasped either the joke or the discontent of Chief Jordan. Instead, his attention is immediately captured by the man sitting on the other side of the desk, who at their entrance turned to them, observing them with clear interest.

The man, thin, almost as thin and tall as him, wears a dark suit that immediately frames him as a federal, but the cut is not common. Sherlock immediately senses that the suit is tailor-made, tailored and also rather expensive, which is rather unusual for a federal. Even the shoes are of Italian brand and certainly of luxury. The black dress, however elegant, contrasts with the clear skin of the man and with his short hair and blond, but so clear as to be almost albino. But it is the eyes, gray but so cold and intense as ice, that strike Sherlock, because he seems to be looking at every detail of them since they entered the room, neither more nor less than what he himself is doing.

Suddenly the look of the man changes and a friendly smile appears on his face when he gets up to meet them.  
"Inspector Lestrade is a pleasure to meet you," he says in a voice with an elegant, almost aristocratic tone, and a slightly drawn accent and cadence, which Sherlock identifies almost immediately as coming from somewhere in rich South America "and is a pleasure to finally know the great detective Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson... your fame, believe me, is well known even in America" he adds with the same smile, approaching until he finds himself in front of Sherlock.

"Let me introduce myself. I'm the special agent Aloysius Pendergast," the man says, then stretching a tapered hand to say hello.

Sherlock watches the man before him for a while. That cold and hard look seems in contrast to his affable ways, but he does not see ambiguity in this. On the contrary, he finds something that belongs to him in that look. He stretches out his hand, greeting the special agent with a firm, short grip.

"I'm curious to know what aspect of this case has affected the FBI, special agent Pendergast, because I do not find any aspect that may be of interest to the federal and if it has nothing interesting to tell us, I'd rather go back to deal with the case without useless distractions," he replies simply as the man pulls away to shake hands with Greg and John.

"They warned me that your ways are, so to speak, direct" Pendergast answers, returning to look at Sherlock "I thought they were exaggerating, but I see that it is not so. What I appreciate, I also find it is of little use to get lost in useless pleasantries and chatter, even if sometimes they are necessary to achieve certain purposes" he adds without hesitation returning to sit down and inviting with a gesture Sherlock to do the same.

"Well, I see you're getting to know," Chief Jordan intervenes, "Special Agent Pendergast is not here in an official capacity anyway, you can rest assured. He is following a personal track and he is in possession of information that could be useful. In return, he asks us for the favor of being set aside for some details of the investigation" he adds, looking at the three approaching the desk and Sherlock sitting down next to the agent.

"We will judge ourselves... in fact, Greg is the head of the investigation... if this information can be really useful and if so he will be worthwhile to participate. If it's not an official investigation, it's the best you can expect," Sherlock says, not at all intimidated by the look of ferocious annoyance of Chief Jordan.

He then straddles his legs, turning to Agent Pendergast by his side, seated the same way, on whose face for a fraction of a second he smiles slightly, as if his response to Chief Jordan were to his liking.

"It seems reasonable and fair" he hears him with the same calm and cordial tone "I would behave the same way. You must be very proud of your staff and those who work with them, Chief Jordan. It will be my care to bring back to our office as you love to surround yourself with smart people," he adds, blocking the words of reproach in the bud that Chief Jordan was clearly about to get out.  
"Yes, yes, I'm very proud of it. Well, since we have clarified I would say that you can go back to the murder section accompanied by the agent Pendergast" he replies "as to you, agent, I would say that we agree with the issue we talked about before" he adds with an annoyed tone.  
"Obviously," the agent answers, standing up.

Sherlock gets up slowly and after nodding, as if he understood something, without saying  anything, he leaves the office followed by the agent, Greg and John, who had silently witnessed the exchange between them. Closed the door behind them they walk along the corridor in silence until they get to the elevators.

"I always thought that the Chief Jordan had a skeleton in the closet quite annoying, but I had never been useful to apply myself to understand what it was" Sherlock says, watching the elevator stop at the floor and open its doors.  
"I have a habit of never being unprepared for an interview with anyone, especially when I want to get a result," replies Agent Pendergast, with a slight smile before entering the elevator with Sherlock, followed by Greg.

John remains for a few moments and looks at them, one next to the other. The more different aesthetically they could not be, the hard, sometimes sociopathic character of Sherlock seems, apparently, the opposite of that of the agent, with his ways of doing cordial, but John intuits they are a way to manipulate and get that he wants. Yet they have the same natural elegance and the same look, almost of ice, with which they observe every single detail with that particular light in the clear eyes, that at times seems to shine.

"John, let's go, we still have a game to finish," Sherlock tells him, distracting him from those thoughts and nodding too, he enters the elevator.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ministry of Health - sensitive data section - 4 February 2020 - 11.00 am**  
  
"I am telling you that it is absolutely impossible for me to help you. They are sealed folders and privacy prevents me from giving them to you, unless there is a judge's mandate" the voice of the official of the health ministry is querulous as is his appearance, while he tiredly answers the same thing from five minutes to those strange men who showed up in his office. Despite representing Scotland Yard and FBI and even with them there is that famous detective, Jack Ridder is not intimidated. It is the only thing in which he feels he has power and certainly does not renounce it.

  
Sherlock has been watching the official and his office since they came in, letting Greg and especially Agent Pendergast talk. The information received from the agent was somehow useful, but if it had not been him, Sherlock admits, he would never have allowed him to participate in this part of the investigation. But a brilliant and acute mind always strikes him and the agent clearly has an uncommon intelligence, even if he does not show off it, except when it comes in handy. In some ways he reminds him Irene and her personal ability to charm, manipulate, to get what she wants, but like a cat is ready to shoot the throat of her prey in a fierce way if necessary. That's why he allowed him to come with them, he wants to see him at work, he is intrigued and can actually come in handy in trying to unroll the band of this skein.

  
"Listen, Mr. Ridder. You know that there are a number of murders at stake. Do not waste my time calling a judge who would surely give us that mandate," Greg replies with a hard and impatient tone.  
"So do not waste time and come back with this mandate" the official replies and with a wave of his hand drives them away, as if to say that the matter is closed to him.  
"Mr. Ridder, it would be exceedingly regrettable if we came back with a warrant and in the meantime another murder took place. It would be helpful if you were to collaborate immediately, don’t you think?" The voice of the agent is soft while addressing the man on the other side of the desk "indeed, I am sure that avoiding another murder could be a note of considerable merit for the your career... instead of a note of demerit" he adds in the same tone. 

Jack Ridder looks at the agent, narrowing his eyes.  
"Are you threatening me with something acting? With me it does not attack. I follow the rules. Now go away that I have spent too much time" he replies annoyed.

The agent's ice eyes are cold now and so glacial that the officer almost feels a chill.

"Inspector, I think it would be good for you to come out now to call the judge" Pendergast's voice is still quiet as he talks to Greg.  
"It could take days to get it," Greg says with a sigh.  
"Exactly, the sooner we start the process the better it is... Mr. Holmes and I look forward to you here," Pendergast tells him in a gentle but firm tone.

Greg does not seem convinced but seeing that even Sherlock seems to agree he nods and leaves the office. 

As soon as the door closes, Pendergast returns to watch Jack Ridder, as Sherlock comes to sit by his side. Now both look at him and the official suddenly, without even knowing why, starts to sweat.  
"It's not a smart move, Mr. Ridder... after all, I'm not expecting anything from a state official," Sherlock tells him.

For a moment Pendergast seems to smile.  
"Mr. Ridder, believe me when I tell you that I find it unpleasant to get this, but you do not give us alternatives" the agent's voice is always calm and seemingly gentle as he pulls a folded sheet out of his jacket and hands it to the other man part of the desk. 

Jack Ridder looks suspiciously at the paper for a few seconds before opening it and reading its contents. Suddenly his expression of presumptuous security changes and his face suddenly becomes pale. He swallows several times and drops the paper suddenly as if it were burning in his hands.  
"How... how... you cannot know about this" he just whispers, before banging his eyes several times with a look between the surprised and the scared. 

Sherlock observes the expressions of the man and does not need to read the paper to know what it is, he had understood since he entered the room that the man had a weak point that could be exploited.

"I know many things and I can even know more about you and those guys... one of them was a minor when you met him... was you aware of it?" Pendergast's voice is still calm, but cold like a polar wind while he speaks "but you know, even if you did not know it, it would be difficult to prove it... imagine the surprise for your wife, your family... it would be very unseemly if they came to know about it. But you understand, an investigation for child pornography and solicitation of children never remains silent... it is rather deflagrating I would say". 

Jack Ridder swallows with fatigue and his hands now clearly tremble.

"All right, I'll give you access to all the medical and sealed records of the victims, even those under secret. If this can block any investigation of this kind, even if it is a blackmail, I agree to cooperate immediately" he responds trying to return to have a minimum of control of the situation. 

Sherlock does not say a word. He observes Pendergast, who mentions a slight smile, apparently satisfied, and stands up adjusting his jacket. The agent moves closer to Jack Ridder and takes the sheet folding it back into the inside pocket of his suit.  
"I was sure we would have found a profitable way to collaborate, Mr. Ridder," he tells him in his gentle tone. With a sudden gesture with one hand he takes a man's arm and twists it behind his back, forcing him with his face on the desk. 

Jack Ridder, surprised, sends a scream of pain that no one in the deserted corridors outside can hear.

  
"Obviously Mr. Ridder, it will be my careful care to make sure that any connection you can ever make to those sites from any PC, place, phone or other device, I will be immediately reported" Pendergast torches even more the arm of the man "in that case Mr. Ridder, as I believe it would be really annoying, I will be forced not only to make sure that there is no person in the world who does not know all your wickedness, but also that your victims can, how to say, have justice... and you know... when I have to correct a wrong... I'm not particularly magnanimous" Pendergast's voice is calm but hard and cold as he speaks, creating an incredible contrast with the polite words he uses. 

Sherlock does not say anything. His expression is as cold as the agent's, but he cannot help but appreciate his method. He had reached the same conclusions and he would use them to get those folders as soon as possible, perhaps more directly and roughly but in similar substance. 

Pendergast suddenly leaves the man's arm and elegantly goes back to sitting, crossing his legs. 

Jack Ridder massages his arm and the color of his face is now bright red, due to the evident pain and fear that these two men in front of him have now put. Sherlock's silence now terrifies him like the words and gestures of the agent and without saying anything else, he picks up the phone and orders his assistant to recover all the files and the secret files of the victims. 

At that moment Greg returns with a disconsolate expression.  
"It will take days and days for that mandate," he says, entering and then stopping when he hears the orders given by the official on the phone. He raises an eyebrow at Sherlock, whose inscrutable and serene look looks like a mirror of the agent's. He senses that those two have combined something, but he decides he does not want to know. The goal is reached. This is the only important thing.


	8. Chapter 8

**London - police station - homicide section - 4 February 2020 - 5.00 p.m.**  
  
In Greg's office they are all intent on analyzing the folders, including John, who had stayed in the central office trying to elaborate on the information received from the agent. Pendergast got the official's folder of a person not connected to the victims or to the case. Sherlock perfectly understood that this was his goal and that it must be something extremely important and personal, but it is not important for him to know what it is at the moment.

"Well gentlemen... my work here is finished" the agent says standing up, arranging the sheets of his personal case in a pocket of his suit "it was a pleasure to work with you, but now it's time for me to follow my track... I'm sure that you too now have to work to solve these murders" he says while greeting Greg and John with a handshake, then he turns to Sherlock who is now standing in front of him.

"I would like to stay but I cannot, but I am sure that soon I will have news of the case solved" he extends his tapered hand to greet the detective in front of him. Pendergast sensed that every step he had made was already perfectly understood and anticipated by this man's brilliant mind and he regretted that he could not see him at work.

Sherlock smiles, crossing his light eyes with those of the man and reaches out to greet him.  
"I wish you will have good luck with your case, agent Pendergast. Maybe in the future our roads will cross again... I hope never to have you as an opponent... or maybe yes... it would be a fun game," Sherlock replies.  
"And I do not wish anybody to have us both as adversaries... I have the impression that they would not have an easy life," Pendergast tells him, leaving his hand.  
"And not even long," Sherlock adds, with an ironic look, then watching him go out.

"Please, if you are going to work together keep me out," John says when the office door closes and the agent has now disappeared from their sight "I already struggle with you and Irene... I don’t need even him" he adds without distracting his look from the folder he is studying.

"But if you're not in the skin... I left you here on purpose, otherwise you started wagging like a puppy in front of a new game" Sherlock replies with a snort.

"Darlene! Yes, Darlene is a perfect name for your daughter!" John tells him in a sarcastic and amused tone.

"Rather I call her Hamish!" Sherlock replies and after almost looking at him, he goes back to studying the case. Now the skein of the skein is before their eyes. He just has to find his head and pull up to find the killer.


	9. Chapter 9

**London - home of John Watson - 4 February 2020 - 9.30 p.m.**  
  
Sometimes happens. It does not happen so often and does not create suffering or melancholy, but sometimes, when John is about to open the door of his house, for a second, maybe even less than a second, in his mind appears the image of Mary who welcomes him. It is only a fleeting vision, that once paralyzed him and made him breathless as soon as the vision disappeared. Now he smiles, smiles when Mary in his mind reminds him to take a present for Rosie's birthday, or when she suggests to take a bouquet of flowers to bring to Eleonor and maybe cook something good for her, without any specific reason except that to see her smile. Mary who accompanies him is now part of his soul and makes sure that he does not do stupidities, as always, she pushes him to be a better man. And for Eleonor he wants to be, because even she, perhaps even more than Mary, believes in him.

This evening, however, the bouquet he brought is to make up for the delay. Eleonor had called him in the afternoon and told him she had already finished the shift and if he came back early they could have dinner together. And he was happy at the thought of spending a quiet evening together, but the appearance of the FBI agent in the last two days and the latest information found have catalyzed all their attention, and time flew without even noticing. Between her work and the cases that he follows with Sherlock, the time to spend together is never much. Not to mention the presence of Rosie, who Eleonor loves as if she were her daughter, but who does not leave them much space of course. But he does not complain. He likes this life as she likes it and they live intensely those moments stolen to be together.

That's why he stopped to get a bunch of flowers that Eleonor prefers, fresh and colorful country flowers, so in contrast with her strong and determined side of police lieutenant, but so in perfect harmony with her deeper soul.

Once inside the house John closes the door, sets his jacket and walks towards the hall. The smell of roast fills his nostrils.

"I know I promised I'd come sooner, but you cannot even imagine that agent with Sherlock how many secret files and information they've managed to get. It took hours to study them and we have not even    finished viewing them all" he says aloud, entering the living room where he stops, looking at the table prepared for two in the smallest detail and lit by candles, the only light point in the whole room.

Eleonor is sitting on the sofa and when she sees him enter with that bouquet of flowers, she smiles at him. She is not angry about the delay, she knows too well the rhythms of an investigation and knows that in some cases an investigation has priority over everything, especially if it serves to avoid other deaths.  
"This agent has really struck you... since yesterday you have not talked about anything else" she says standing up to meet him.  
"Yes... well, it's a really weird guy, actually, but very effective," he replies, handing her the bouquet of flowers.  
"Ah, that's why you like him so much", Eleonor says, giggling and taking the bouquet from his hands, she touches his lips "thank you... my favorites", she then moves away to place them in a vase.  
"Yes... well, however, I'm glad he went away... I have the impression that managing both him and Sherlock could be too" he murmurs almost to himself as he approaches the table "let's celebrate something?" he asks then, noting the sparkling wine at the center held in a cool place in a container full of ice.

Eleonor approaches his side and surrounds his hip with her right arm. She looks at the sparkling wine, then looks up at John and smiles at him. The long dark hair framing her beautiful face and her eyes seem even darker and deeper than usual, but they shine in a particular way.

John looks at her and thinks that the light of the candles makes her even more beautiful than usual.  
"Let's celebrate something... yes" Eleonor whispers.  
"A promotion? It would be you and you deserve it all" John says, passing an arm around her shoulders.  
"Not really... it's not just about me" Eleonor's voice is still a whisper as she speaks.

John bends his head a moment trying to figure out where she wants to get. Eleonor watches him and smiles amused.  
"Let's put it this way... you'll have to work hard to find another name... beyond that for Sherlock and Irene's daughter" she adds, holding her breath waiting for his reaction.

John blinks his eyes for a moment and after a while the understanding makes his eyes widen.  
"Oh... but... God. I'm a doctor and I never get there" he exclaims at first for the surprise, then seeing the expression of Eleonor he takes her face in his hands and kisses her with passion "if you do not were understood... Lieutenant Eleonor Mendoza... right now I really feel like a lucky man" he adds before returning to kiss her.


	10. Chapter 10

**London - Brompton Road - Harrods store – 4 June 2020 - 11.30 p.m.**  
  
Lionel Cooper has always loved when the turn took place at the Harrods department store. Being able to enter one of the most luxurious and prestigious stores in London at night and feel free to go anywhere, has always given him a vague feeling of power and freedom.

With his simple uniform of surveillance man, he could not even cross the door of this place, where the appropriate suit is required for each client. Elegance, decorum and money. All things that are not really at the base of his DNA but Lionel has never made a problem. He is a simple man, with simple tastes and simple requests. It's enough for him to have a roof over his head, a wife to share his life with, beer in the fridge and a nice game on TV to follow. This is enough for him to feel like a happy man.

That's why, when he has the turn at Harrods, he's the only one not to complain, because he does not feel envy for those who can afford all that luxury, on the contrary Lionel is rather curious and does not understand how he can live in the midst of all that pomp and not feeling to choke.

But he has fun, he enjoys going around the various rooms and imagining people who could wear that dress, those shoes, that scarf, that coat. A bit like watching a movie, because in his mind he also imagines the lives of these people.

But something is wrong tonight. Lionel is agitated, nervous. The corridors seem dark, oppressive, disturbing. From the morning the thoughts in his mind have crowded and now they are suffocating him. He has never suffered from claustrophobia, but at this moment Lionel feels as if the walls around him were moving to hold him in a lethal grip, a slow death squeezed between the walls of Harrods.

He cannot stand it, it's too much, this moment is unsustainable, this life is unacceptable. Lionel puts his hand on one of the walls, his eyes wide open, terrified by his thoughts, by anxiety, by the panic that grips him and does not let him breathe. He takes the gun from the holster and thinks that a quick and painless death is preferable to a slow and painful agony. He puts the gun in his mouth and with a sigh of relief he pulls the trigger and in that second, before the bullet crosses his brain, Lionel thinks ironically that the owners of Harrods will certainly not be happy to see all his blood and his brain scattered on the walls of their luxurious warehouse.


	11. Chapter 11

**London - Baker Street - 5 June 2020 - 10.30 a.m.**  
  
The suffocating heat of this early June is putting a strain on most Londoners. A hot unexpected, that has caught everyone by surprise, a hot humid that sticks to you and does not let you breathe. Even just sitting still in front of a cooling fan makes you sweat. That's what John thinks, observing from his armchair Sherlock that, while he checks his website and the latest news from his laptop, he seems to stand the heat without even realizing it.

"Can you do it thanks to your mental techniques?" He asks, thinking with relief to Eleonor, who luckily took a few days off to go with his mother out of town, where she breathes better.  
"To do exactly what?"  his friend replies, turning to him for a moment.  
"Do not sweat and do not suffer the heat...  God, but you're cold-blooded like reptiles?" John asks again with an ironic tone.  
"That's rather my brother Mycroft... but no... I do not use any technique in particular... I just avoid thinking about it and I apply my mind to more important things" Sherlock replies returning to look at the laptop.

Irene's light laugh makes him look up for a moment and Sherlock observes her while she is half-reclining on the sofa looking for refreshment, using a fan with one hand while the other caresses her now tense and prominent belly. In the seventh month of pregnancy her body has certainly changed, but without losing even a little of her particular charm. In these months Sherlock has observed every little change that took place in her, almost every day. More than once Irene has recollected him, reminding him that she was not a scientific experiment to be kept in constant observation, but in reality, his almost obsessive curiosity has amused and intrigued her as always.

"In one of your long evening chats with your daughter, could you please teach her not to suffer the heat? Because I do not remember having ever suffered so much in my life before now... even in the middle of the desert and with a sword ready to beheaded," Irene tells him, with her eyes closed, continuing to wave non-stop.  
"It was deep night... impossible to feel hot in the middle of the night in the desert... and it was not a sword but an Arab scimitar... although obviously in case of danger the adrenaline makes the blood flow rapidly, the pulsations increase and in that case the effect it can be warm," Sherlock replies, remembering when he saved her years ago in Karachi, replacing the executioner who was to execute the sentence.

"Oh please... shut up... you make me come even hotter" John intervenes snorting.  
"Damn," Sherlock suddenly exclaims, drawing Irene and John's attention to him. Sherlock gets up, closing the laptop suddenly with a gesture of annoyance and goes to the window looking out with his hands resting on his hips.  
"Another... another incomprehensible suicide... the tenth suicide... they are a short distance from each other at the beginning of the year and now another four in a few days months after the first" he speaks without turning around and in his voice shines the anger not yet managed to solve this case. Greg and the police have now filed everything as simple, though inexplicable, suicide but he knows that it is not so, he is certain.

"Sherlock you should apply on a new case... this is now closed and maybe it's never been a case. People take their lives... unfortunately happens too often but you cannot do anything about it" John tells him looking at his friend who now seems obsessed by these suicides.  
"Tell me John... have I ever been wrong in all these years of interpreting a case so strikingly?" Sherlock asks, turning now to him and his clear eyes stare at him carefully waiting for an answer.

John supports his gaze and after a few moments he sighs.  
"No... never" he answers sincerely.  
"So if I tell you that these are murders... do you believe me... or do you think maybe I'm not shiny enough right now? Do you think that I did not think about waiting for a daughter... giving life to another human being... did not convince me to consider these as killings, because I do not accept that someone can take our lives? I've evaluated every nuance, John, and I tell you that these are not just suicides... do you believe me?" Sherlock's voice is low and steady as he looks at his friend.  
"I believe you Sherlock... you know I always trust your instincts" John replies without hesitation.  
"It is not just instinct John" Sherlock tells him turning then to Irene "and do you believe me? Do you trust my ability to judge?" He asks her, crossing her gaze.  
"If I did not always trust you, I would not find myself in this state now, Sherlock Holmes" Irene replies with a slight ironic tone continuing to caress her belly "I never doubted your abilities... if you say they are not suicides, it must be so" she adds, smiling at him.  
Sherlock nods, responding to her smile and with a long sigh relaxes his shoulders, letting his hands fall down his hips.

At that moment the door to the living room, which was half open, slowly were open wide.  
"And you are right to believe him, because he is absolutely right and if you allow me, I can prove it" the voice of Agent Pendergast arrives a few seconds before his entry, attracting everyone's attention. With his elegant and plush step, the man, who always dresses in a dark suit, so incredibly in contrast with the light skin and blonde hair almost albino, enters the 221B lounge, looking at the whole apartment before returning to look with his gray eyes John, Sherlock and Irene.

Behind him soon appears another heavy-looking man, with shaved hair and the typical attitude of a policeman, as Sherlock intuits.  
"Dr. Watson is a pleasure to see you again, I see that the scorching heat is not congenial to you," says the agent to John, who was still seated in his chair with a stunned and surprised expression on his face.  
"Agent Pendergast... but what a surprise" John is right to say standing up to offer his hand, noting how he also seems to not suffer the heat as his friend.  
"And you have to be Irene Adler... let me introduce myself... I'm the special agent Aloysius Pendergast" he says approaching Irene, who has risen from the couch with a curious expression, while observing the man whose gaze, which usually test in almost all discomfort, it almost gets the opposite effect on her "I have heard a lot about you and it is a real honor to meet you" the man adds, with a friendly smile.

"Nice to meet you, Agent Pendergast... I've heard a lot about you too," Irene says in the same tone.  
"I hope well... or at least not too bad," Pendergast tells her, now looking at Sherlock, whose steady and inquisitive gaze has been watching him since he entered, even though he remained firm in his mind with his initial words.

"What evidence?" Simply asks without preamble.  
"Nice to see you again Mr. Holmes... I see that you do not abandon your direct ways... which I continue to appreciate anyway".  
"I do not like pleasantries... so I'm asking you again... what proof?" Sherlock answers almost impatiently.

Pendergast smiles and turns to the man behind him.  
"Let me introduce you to my dear friend Vincent D'Agosta, New York Police Lieutenant" says the agent to the man who cordially greets everyone with a nod of his head "Vincent and I have been working on a case in recent months, which details that has now brought us here" he adds, extending a hand to Vincent, who gives him the folder of documents that he brought with him "a series of four strange and inexplicable suicides occurred a few days later... do it remind you something, Mr. Holmes?" Now he turns to Sherlock, handing him the folder of documents "I think it will be interesting what we found Mr. Holmes... let's get comfortable so I tell you all" he adds finally.  


About three hours after Pendergast's arrival, Mrs. Hudson goes upstairs with the idea of asking if any of them want a snack. With her she brought a tray with some sandwiches, intending to convince at least Irene to eat something. When she enters Sherlock's apartment, the living room seems to have been devastated by a bomb, which is not so rare to tell the truth. Sheets of newspapers, printed articles, medical records are scattered on the floor. And all of them are absorbed and intent to read the documents, except for Sherlock and Pendergast standing one next to the other, carefully watching the plant on the wall, where dates and links have multiplied and some new photos have been pointed at out of the plant on a piece of paper with upper NY writing.

"Dear Sherlock, if you go on like that, you cannot even walk in here anymore," Mrs. Hudson exclaims, shaking her head as she carefully tries to reach the table where she can place the tray with the sandwiches.

Irene raises her head from the sheet she was reading when she hears her enter.  
"Oh Mrs. Hudson, God bless you... you do not even imagine the appetite I have right now," Irene tells her, sitting in Sherlock's chair and does not even wait for the tray to be laid, that she already grabbed one of the sandwiches and then starts to eat with an incredible voracity.

John, sitting in the chair opposite, observes her and he slightly laughs.  
"Seeing you and Eleonor eating with so much taste is a real treat," he says, continuing to chuckle.  
"I do not find anything funny... I cannot seem to control my body any more... it is she who commands everything... hungry, sleep... everything" answers Irene without stopping to eat the sandwich that has now almost all devoured.  
"Yeah... I would say that this is a trait mostly inherited from you then" says John continuing to laugh softly as he resumes reading his documents.

"Oh John, leave her alone... rather eat something yourself and put some order in order, for charity" Mrs. Hudson intervenes before returning to the stairs and downstairs.

"It must be here, we have it under our nose, I can feel it but I cannot find it... oh damn... I need my patches" Sherlock exclaims on the other side of the room with an altered tone, then moving away from the wall to open a desk drawer from which he pulls out his nicotine patches. He takes four and quickly raises the sleeves of his shirt to apply two per arm.  
"Interesting method," Pendergast murmurs, watching him come back to his side "I sometimes use absinthe to relax my mind and help focus. In the form of liquor, of course, that I distil myself. The right dose can be very stimulating mentally" he adds, returning to look at the pictures on the wall.  
"But in case of abuse it can become a strong hallucinogen... it's definitely not the right method for me. Obviously, Agent Pendergast, you have a form of self-control stronger than mine," Sherlock replies with a long sigh, relaxed by the effect of nicotine which begins to circulate in his body.  
"Not always Mr. Holmes to tell the truth... but I think this applies to any human being" Pendergast tells him, before turning to Vincent, sitting on the ground to observe other documents.  
"Found nothing in common Vincent?"

"Nothing... the only thing they all have in common is that they are as healthy as fish. They all did regular exams, but all in different laboratories and are all normal checkup" the policeman replies without even looking up.

"Then, the only link between all the victims continues to be that top secret experiment that you have discovered," Sherlock says aloud, referring to what Pendergast has brought from America. Investigating the mysterious disappearance of a doctor and the four suicides that took place in New York, the agent, thanks to a friend and collaborator magician of information technology, can find, in a completely illegal for most of the time, any information even secreted, and so he discovered that both the missing physician and each of the suicides were directly or indirectly connected to an experiment for a new anticancer medicine. Unfortunately, despite the authorization after positive experimentation on animals, the experiment on men had failed miserably, causing in some cases a painful death and in others the deep and irreversible coma. The experiment had been secreted and silenced and would never have come to light except for the incredible abilities of his friend hacker Mime.  
"Exactly Mr. Holmes... and my friend just confirmed to me that even Harrods's suicide tonight was partly connected to that experiment. It seems that his uncle worked as a nurse in the department where the experiment was held five years ago, before he died of a heart attack two years ago. Uncle had no children, so Lionel, our security guard, was his closest descendant. The killer is hitting those he considers directly responsible or their descendants. This is clear to us now. We just have to figure out how to push these men to commit suicide," Pendergast concludes, taking other documents scattered on the couch to read them again.  
"We are missing something important. I feel, it is before our eyes and we cannot see it and this thing is really irritating... someone linked to one of the victims of the experiment... must be here among these papers... must jump out " Sherlock exclaims with a new tone altered.

In the meantime, Irene got up from her chair after finishing eating and, taking care not to step on the documents scattered on the floor, she approached Sherlock, gently putting a hand on his arm.  
"You'll do it... now take a deep breath... sit in your armchair and reflect... I'm sure you'll be able to find what you're missing," she says quietly and then taking her bag from a chair.  
"Are you going away?" Sherlock asks, sighing as he watches her prepare.  
"In the afternoon they come to pick me up at home. Fortunately, the laboratory where I usually go has set up this convenient service, because with this heat the idea of going out to wait for my turn in a room full of hot and sweaty people, just would not be to my liking" she says smiling at him, already dreaming of the comfortable sofa of her house and the cool air conditioning of the whole apartment "I would like to stay to help you, but your daughter has now decided that she wants sleep... I would have little help lying on the couch to sleep on all your sheets" she adds, caressing the belly absently with one hand.  
"I'll go with you then... maybe I'll stay with you until they get to get you picked," Sherlock tells her with a sigh, feeling guilty for having dragged her into his delusions on this case instead of letting her rest quiet, now that she's in the last months of pregnancy.  
"Sherlock is not necessary. I already called a taxi. Stay here, take refuge in your mental palace and find the solution" she says before approaching and kiss him lightly on a cheek "impress a girl, Mr. Holmes" then she whispers in his ear and with a last smile goes away from him, greets everyone and leaves the apartment.

Sherlock smiles for a moment at the memory of that phrase that heard her say when she asked him to find out the meaning of a code hidden on her phone. Years ago, this memory always caused him sordid rage because he remembered how easily he had fallen into the trap that Irene had cleverly built. Now, however, the memory makes him smile, because he cannot help but admire her incredible cunning and ability to understand what people want, a gift that The Woman has always had inborn. Over the years he has understood that this is her ability that he admires most, because it is what he lacks. He is able to deduce from the simple observation what people do, if they lie, what they think, how they act, how they react. She knows what people like, what they want, because she looks at people's heart and soul. Now Sherlock watches her go away, elegant and incredibly sensual in his eyes even now that she is almost at the beginning of the seventh month of pregnancy, and he can only smile at the thought of how she understood what he wanted back then, when he himself employed years to get to understand it. And still today she reads him inside. Irene knows very well that what he needs now is to solve this damned case and in a certain way gave him her blessing, dispensing him from any duty towards her at this moment.  
"Well gentlemen... you are free to do what you want... I have to leave you now" and without adding other, Sherlock goes to sit in his chair, rests his hands on the armrests, closes his eyes and soon disappears in his mental palace, looking for that damn particular that means everything.  


"So how does it work? Are you waiting for him to come back to the real world or do something else until he sends a text message asking where you are?" John asks sitting at the kitchen table where he and Vincent took refuge, after Sherlock and Pendergast entered their respective mental palaces.

Vincent laughs softly, taking the coffee that John has prepared.  
"Pendergast is rather lonely and generally takes refuge in his mental palace when he is alone in one of his apartments. He just told me once that in his mind is the house where he grew up and that was destroyed in a fire. Then, when he found the solution he calls me, but not always. The times he got into trouble without telling me or telling me everything in detail is not counted", Vincent replies, sipping his coffee.  
"Ah well, they really have a lot of things in common then. However, I have spent years to make him understand that if we are a team, I do not know things halfway or in part... and even nowadays he falls back again" John tells him with a resigned sigh "but did you say apartments in the plural? Is he rich? I did not believe you were making so much of the FBI agent," he asks finally, intrigued by this particular man.  
"He's rich, but the money comes from his family, an aristocratic and wealthy New Orleans family. In reality he has a symbolic salary of a dollar a year as an agent. He does it because he likes it and not because he needs it... or at least he needs it but not because he needs to work... I think it's kind of a drug for him to solve the most absurd, mysterious and complicated cases. And they allow him not to become a crazy criminal, like a good part of his family and his ancestors. Nobody can stand up to the agency and his superiors would like to make him out every moment, because of his decidedly unorthodox methods and also of his absolute regulation allergy... but they never do without him... he's a remarkable resource and someone up there knows," Vincent answers, speaking almost more to himself as if it were a reflection on some traits of this man. And despite everything that happened during the cases that involved Pendergast closely, starting from that crazy criminal of his brother Diogenes up to Albin, one of his two twin sons no less crazy than his uncle and perhaps even more dangerous, he now considers him as his best friend for years. Vincent shakes his head at the memory and still wonders how his friend did not go crazy too, because a normal man would not have survived neither physically nor mentally to everything that happened to him and to all the terrible losses he had to face and endure.

"Evidently having a fool in the family gets this effect... I could say that's the same thing for Sherlock" John tells him, by placing the cup of coffee now empty before moving his eyes on the friend sitting in his chair for at least three quarters of an hour in a state of absolute trance "that does not take away that sometimes I would punch him... sometimes behind him is really exhausting" he adds, back to watching Vincent.  
"It's dangerous too... I often risked my career, my private life and even my life to run after him".  
"And yet we cannot do without them... because they hardly ever fail... are they?"  
"Exactly... even when it seems absurd what they say... it's a question of faith... I believe in him... always... even when I had doubts about his sanity... a part of me has always believed in him".  
"But I'm sure that Sherlock is not mentally healthy... he's a bloody madman... he's almost always right but he's basically a mad irritant egocentric sociopath arrogant braggart".  
"Of course... this is what makes them special... how can you not love them?".

Vincent also puts his empty cup of coffee after saying these last words. Look John in the eyes and after a while, without even knowing why, they both start laughing and with that look of resigned and supportive acceptance, they wait for their two friends to decide to return to the world of the living.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**London - Eaton Square - 5 June 2020 - 3.30 pm**  
  
"If a few years ago someone had told me that I would have seen my decidedly unconventional little sister with a big belly, I would have laughed and give him crazy," Alex says, while, sitting at the table in the kitchen, he observes Irene preparing a fresh and smoothie vitamin. "And I do not think I've ever seen you prepare or even think of eating a smoothie... unless it was made with oysters and champagne," he adds with that light-hearted and amused tone that sets him apart.  
"If a few years ago someone had told me that my unrepentant bachelor and globetrotter brother would one day put roots in London, becoming the faithful and affectionate boyfriend of a woman soap and water like Molly... I probably would not have laughed, but I would have whipped up to make him regret the nonsense that was even thinking," Irene answers with a serious tone, then going to the table with her glass of freshly smoothie.  
"Here we are, this is something I cannot quite believe to believe," Alex laughs, as he watches her sit down with a certain amount of effort, while managing not to lose an ounce of her innate elegance.

At that moment Miki enters in the kitchen carrying a backpack.  
"Irene, are you sure I can go with Alex?" the boy asks as he enters.  
"Miki I'm fine and I do not need anything. Go with Alex and take your time more constructively than being here and doing nothing. I rest and wait for them to come and pick me up. If you ever need anything I'll call you" Irene answers calmly, trying to overcome the annoyance that begins to feel for all these attentions not always required. In her life she never needed anyone to go on, certainly she is not one of those women who seek continuous help and support, and while having asked for collaboration with both Miki and Sherlock, it seems to occasionally suffocate. To abandon oneself to others for her is still as difficult today as it is for Sherlock. But Miki, fortunately, she thinks, seems immune to her despair of independence as to those of Sherlock. She looks at him while, after putting his backpack on a chair, he goes to the sink to clean the blender and the sink before leaving, and mentally Irene thanks again the constant presence of John and Eleonor in the life of the boy, who influence him in a way more than positive.

"Yes Miki, Irene is going through a pregnancy without problems, fortunately, and here with the air conditioning she cannot even suffer from the heat. But I absolutely need you, you know that you are my favorite assistant and the last stages of my research need your presence "Alex tells him getting up from his chair to then approached Irene and greet her with a kiss on the forehead "you will not, but anyway, if you need something call me," he adds, ignoring Irene's eyes and puffs completely, and without looking up she greets them both and watches them go out.

Once alone with a sigh she ends her smoothie and then, holding on with both hands, she lifts up and slowly leaves the kitchen. She would like to go to the bedroom but the thought of going up the stairs and then going down again when the nurse arrives, makes her change her mind.

The living room has a nice sofa and soon she reaches it, settling in a convenient position. Her hand resting on her belly, she observes her body so changed. The moment when she discovered she was pregnant comes to mind. It was not expected and she had never even once in her life forgot to take the pill. But that was how it was, just one forgetfulness and in a moment life could change totally, more than what had already changed up to that moment. Alone in the bathroom that night she could not believe the test she had done and looking in the mirror, her body still perfect, the panic was the first sensation that gripped. She could not become a mother, she was not in her nature. To love Sherlock, to welcome and care for Miki, was something that she could be done, because none of them wanted to change her. She was and remained Irene Adler, The Woman. But becoming a mother was something completely different. A human being that completely depends on you and whose needs come before yours and anyone else. No, this was not possible. She had to talk to Sherlock about it, but it was not possible. And right then Irene wondered if this child would have light eyes and dark curls like Sherlock, his intelligence or her intuition or maybe both. And then she understood that no, she did not have the character of a mother, but the life that began to grow inside her was hers, Sherlock's and hers and it was not possible that now someone took it away from her, she could not do it and she would not no one done.

Irene thinking back to those first moments now smiling and sighing she falls asleep on the sofa, enjoying the cool of her home in contrast to the enormous heat outside.


	13. Chapter 13

**London - Baker Street - 5 June 2020 - 4.30 pm**  
  
In every room of his mental palace, Sherlock carefully preserves every memory and every room has its own particular door, a plaque to distinguish it from the others, cabinets, drawers, furniture and shelves. There are some rooms that he visits almost every day and others that open only occasionally, when he needs them. The house where he grew up is the backbone of his mental palace, that house that Eurus, his psychopathic and terrible younger sister, destroyed and almost burnt to the ground. There are various floors and even the cellars and every room serves the purpose for Sherlock. That of being able to access every memory, even those details that have seen but not focused. Each room allows his mind to focus on one particular, because all the rest of his mind and his memories are separated and closed in other rooms of that huge palace.

When he is in this building, Sherlock does not perceive the passage of time and it seems to him that only a few minutes have passed when sometimes hours have passed. Now he is back in the main corridor on the first floor. He visited the cellars, where he set up a new room for this case and for months he is filling it with all the details and information that has accumulated. The room is now twice as big because it has set up everything related to suicide in America and the damn experiment that gave rise to the whole. But now he is on the first floor again and does not know why. Something pushed him out of that room and brought him upstairs and now Sherlock looks at Irene's room opposite.

"Why I'm here, you cannot distract me now, I need to focus on the case" he says to himself sighing, but the hand is already on the handle of the wooden door with an elegant and strong structure. He opens it and enters the big room, the largest of the building. There's everything in there, everything about her and he builds it since he first met her. On a shelf to his right he sees the pin with which Irene narcotized him and beside her phone, the one that in real life is still carefully kept in a drawer of Baker Street. In the open closet there are all those clothes that have somehow struck him, from his own coat, the only garment she wore when he met her, to his dressing gown, when he found her in Baker Street, to the blue carnival costume, that of Avatar, when still undercover she returned to London just to greet him for a moment, to her white dress, when finally, after years, their story took the right path or what she wore during the trial that saw her accused of murder. Years of details that concern her and that he carefully preserves. But why now he is in this room he cannot understand it.

He turns and sees her by his side.  
"Think Sherlock, think… do what you do best as I do what I do best" his own mind says, with the voice and the look of Irene, beautiful and with that particular and captivating smile that does not disappear never even now with that prominent belly.

Sherlock just tilts his head and suddenly opens his eyes, joining his hands like a single applause.  
"What you do best... but sure... that's what I had missed... you know what people like" he exclaims in his mind and at that moment the mental palace disappears and, opened his eyes again in Baker Street, he rises with a jump from the chair reaching in a moment the wall and the part of the plant with photos and documents about suicides in America.


	14. Chapter 14

**London - Eaton Square - 5 June 2020 - 4.30 pm**  
  
The sound of the intercom wakes her up from a deep sleep. Since she is pregnant she manages to fall asleep anywhere and at any time of the day. Long deep sleeps as she does not remember having ever had in her whole life. With difficulty, Irene gets up from the sofa and slowly crosses the hall to the front door. She watches from the video intercom and sees a common-looking man wearing a badge with the symbol of the analysis laboratory and behind him parked a car with the same symbols.  He arrived half an hour early, but better, Irene thinks, whose desire now is to go back to sleep, maybe upstairs in her large, comfortable bed.

She opens the door and the man enters with a suitcase of those that are typically used in hospital to transport material and tools.  
"Good evening, I came to collect it as you requested," the man says, whose jovial smile, Irene thinks, is as trivial as the rest of his appearance, but with education she makes him sit by closing the door behind him. Sometimes resisting the temptation to slap certain people, just to see if their banality decreases, really requires a considerable will and self-control.

"Yes, sure, take a seat, go there in the living room" she tells him "I do not think we'll put much, so here it should be fine" she adds sitting near the desk, now clear of her laptop like that of Sherlock. Then look at the man putting the case and preparing the instrumentation. The sleeve is raised and the tourniquet is placed on the upper part of her exposed arm. She watches him take the needle and found the vein she feels it penetrate. The needle is fixed to the arm and here the man takes the vial with which to draw the blood. He inserts it but the pressure mechanism does not seem to work and he sees it snorting.  
"Damn cuts to save money, one in two of these tubes never works. Excuse me but for safety I use another needle" the nurse tells her as he takes the test tube and needle out of her arm, which he puts into the briefcase and takes another one.

Irene did not react either to the first needle or the second. Certainly, it is not emotional woman for some sting. But there is something in this man, something familiar and since he has entered she is trying to remember where she has seen him, because she is sure she has seen him. And in a moment it comes back to her mind. How could she not recognize him right away.

Irene's clear eyes suddenly turn dark and intense blue as they open up to the truth of what she has understood and with her free hand blocks the hand of the man who is now withdrawing her blood.  
"Do not worry, Miss Adler... or maybe I should call you Mrs Aldler Holmes... it's all right. We did, now it's all over" the voice of the man is firm and no longer jovial as before, having freed himself from Irene's hand, he removes the tube with the blood and carefully stores it.


	15. Chapter 15

**London - Baker Street - 5 June 2020 - 4.40 p.m.**  
  
Pendergast is back from his mental palace almost in unison with Sherlock. Perhaps his voice has brought him back to reality, but above all the words he heard have entered his mind making him find that detail that eluded him. Now standing next to the detective, he is looking at those photos and behind them Vincent and John have joined them and listen to them.

"Irene always manages to understand what people like, people's hearts, their desires. It is one of her particular abilities and she has always been able to exploit" the voice of Sherlock is now full of adrenaline, while telling to himself and to others what he has understood.  
"It was here before our eyes and we did not understand... but she... at least she understood what now allows me to solve the case" he adds, shaking his head.  
"We were starting from a completely wrong point... that's why it escaped us," Pendergast says at his side.

"Well... now I would not want to be boring... but would you two be so kind to explain it to us too? Because, I think I speak also in the name of Vincent, but we still grope in the dark," John says, going to Sherlock's side, while Vincent nodding moves to the side of Pendergast.  
"John you should understand Irene in this even better than me, you're the one who looks at the heart of people, much more than I can do" Sherlock says, but without waiting for an answer indicates a picture where that doctor Jack Moore, one of those who had participated in the experiment, embraces smiling one of the volunteers, a woman who at that moment does not yet know that she is about to go to a deep coma, in which she is still trapped.  
"This doctor, the one who disappeared and reported missing on a trip to the Nile towards the end of last year, who we hypothesized may perhaps be the first victim of the murderer, even if the body was not found. Remember John, what Irene said looking at this picture?" Sherlock asks, turning for a moment to his friend.  
"Vaguely... if I'm not mistaken, it seems to me that she commented something about the uselessness of these dead... she said something like that guilt is a sufficient sentence" John murmurs, trying to remember the words of the woman.

"Exactly John, the sense of guilt, that sense of guilt that can condemn you to hell, especially if you know you've caused death or the irreversible coma of the woman you love. Here's what Irene saw... this doctor who embraces this woman looks at her trying to hide a feeling, but one like Irene always notices certain nuances," Sherlock concudes.  
"And here is the wrong starting point" Pendergast continues "if this doctor was in love with this woman and this experiment took her to a coma, the guilt may have made him mad and at that point the anger did not turn against himself, but against all those who participated in that experiment... the killer is connected to one of the victims this is true... but he is also one of the responsible" Pendergast ends, then moving to all the medical records of the suicides and, after quickly check all again, he turns to the others with a smile of triumph.  
"There are... the connection between the victims that escaped us. It is true that all of them have done analysis and all in different laboratories but look, the samples were not made in the laboratories. They were made at home. All at home. The names of the nurses are all different but it could always be the same person, Dr. Moore," Pendergast says, with conviction.

"All right, even assuming you two are right. How did he convince all these people to commit suicide? Because we are always at the main point of this investigation. We can also guess and hypothesize who and why, but if we do not establish how, we do not have anything in hand," Vincent replies, who begins to see the picture, but the structure still seems smoky and unclear.  
"Hallucinogens" suddenly Sherlock exclaims, attracting everyone's attention "why I did not immediately think about it... many hallucinogens have a very short stay in the blood, so not detectable by normal autopsies, but may cause psychotic syndromes even after weeks after intake. If this man went to the house to make withdrawals, it will not be difficult for him to inject the substance without the victims realizing it. Just a needle soaked that goes directly into the blood and the game is done" Sherlock concludes, with a sense of exaltation and euphoria for finally resolving that damn puzzle, but at the same instant in which he says these words, suddenly the world stops and breath is missing.

He opens his eyes wide and looks at John with his face almost white.  
"Irene... home blood sample" he succeeds in whispering.

"Oh my God" John murmurs in response and the sudden silence, which lasts only a second, seems to have dumbed the whole world.

Like the explosion of a bomb, just a second later, Sherlock runs out rushing down the stairs, flying photos and documents during the race, followed closely by the others.

"Sherlock. Sherlock good God stop" John runs behind the friend, who in a few steps went out into the street "try to call her first" tells him as soon as he has reached "there is no reason to think that man wants hurt Irene... it could be a simple coincidence" adds breathless, but Sherlock does not even seem to listen to him and in a few steps has reached the race car of Mrs. Hudson, whose keys he took off before leaving home.  
"There are no coincidences John... it was not her idea. I remember well that she found an advertisement for this service at home for withdrawals. I wish it were, but it cannot be a coincidence. He must have done in that way with everyone, do you understand?" Sherlock's voice is altered as he eagerly tries to open the car door "they were all busy men, none of them would have refused a pick-up service offered by a clinic, as well as Irene has certainly not refused, who hates being among ordinary people as I hate it" and when he finally finishes, he manages to open the car door, but a steady hand takes him by the arm and takes the car keys.

"Sherlock, you're too nervous to drive... let me do it... I know racing cars very well and we'll get there in no time and without risk" Pendergast's voice is calm and steady, as is his appearance. Sherlock looks at him and nods, accepting the help. In a moment he turns around the car climbing up on the passenger side, while Pendergast takes his place at the wheel. Then he lowers the window to his friend.  
"Vincent, warn the police... John should have the number of Inspector Lestrade... and also call an ambulance," he says, then looking at John who was trying to call Irene without success.

"John warns Mycroft, we must not find obstacles along the way. Let's go. We do not waste any more time" Sherlock exclaims, feeling the anguish in him is mixed with a sordid rage, whose inner scream resembles the roar of the car's engine that starts to wipe the wheels on the asphalt.


	16. Chapter 16

**London - Eaton Square - 5 June 2020 - 5.00 p.m.**  
  
It's a strange feeling. A mixture of anger, exaltation, fear and euphoria. Irene feels a heavy head, but at the same time she feels light. A part of her mind is struggling like a lioness to get out of this strange dream, but it's like swimming in a sea without water. She knows that she has to wake up, that she has to react, she must do something, but despite she is swimming with all her strength, she does not move an inch. The lights are dazzling, too much light and too many colors. She cannot ditinguish anything around her, she does not know if she has to go left or right. But she can’t remain firm, she does not have to. She is asking her. Her daughter needs to get out of this quagmire of nothing, more than she needs herself. And it is only this thought that makes her keep fighting, swimming, screaming until she feels something solid under her hand.

Slowly the colors fade, the light becomes less intense and annoying and Irene starts to feel the solid around her. A wall behind her back, the floor beneath her legs stretched out, an upturned chair to which her hand is clinging. Slowly she manages to focus and in front of her eyes reappears her living room and the man who did something to her. She still does not know what he did to her, but it's certainly the man she saw in that picture. The doctor, Jack Moore, the one in love with the patient. Who was thought to have disappeared, perhaps killed by the murderer. But if he's here and he's alive, he can only be the killer, so he did something to her. She feels heavy breathing and heavy body but she cannot speak or move. She only realizes that she has fallen from the chair and somehow managed to lift herself by resting her back against the wall next to the window.

The man is in front of her and walks back and forth clearly agitated. He was not when he took the blood... twice. Yes, now remember that he used two needles and in a moment she understands that the first perhaps contained something. A narcotic? A drug? A poison?  
"No... my daughter... what have you done to me?" she can just whisper.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry it was not expected, but somehow I had to stop and this was the only way" Jack tells her, stopping to look at her "but you did not have to understand... you had to finish like everyone else... you had to take your life during a crisis psychotic, but now I cannot wait... you would tell him everything, do you understand?" he adds with a disconsolate tone, as if all this was too much for him now.

Irene looks at him and senses that he must have injected some hallucinogenic drug and also senses his madness as his weakness. It was not just a way to hide crimes. In reality he does not have the strength to kill directly and therefore has used a more subtle and indirect way to fulfill his mad revenge. But now she knows and could save herself and frame him. That's why he's so agitated. He has to solve the question and he must do it with his hands. All this Irene thinks in a few seconds and, trying to put order in the confused thoughts of the drug. she takes a deep breath and looks at him.  
"You will not do anything now. Sit down and wait quietly. If you kill me now your situation will get worse, because as I understood it, Sherlock and Agent Pendergast will have understood it. I am sure that soon they will arrive and I would avoid making things worse. Believe me, having them as enemies I would not wish it to anyone", she tells him in the calmest and most authoritative tone she manages to have, even if her current condition does not allow her to be at her best.

Jack listens to her and for a moment he almost seems to evaluate her suggestion, but the image of the woman he loves, standing still in a bed as if it were a rag, suddenly comes to mind and the blind and insane rage that has clouded him in these months, immediately returns to the surface.

"No... no you will not be saved... it was not planned but it must be so... she has not been saved, why should you save yourself?" Everything in his mind seems clear and logical, no doubt. This woman must die because he must continue his mission. There are still three people left to execute and only then he can return to her bedside and shoot himself with that gun that has been ready for almost a year in the drawer of his bedside table. Jack Moore approaches the desk where he has placed his briefcase and takes out a pair of scissors. He watches it as he holds in one hand, grabbing it like a knife, and then turns to the woman, whose gaze almost frightens him. She does not seem to be afraid, not for him at least.

She has the look of a lioness, the ferocity of a feline, ready to protect her puppies without hesitation and that look gives him the creeps. But he cannot be afraid, it's ridiculous. She is weakened by drugs and her pregnancy, he cannot be scared by this woman. But the minutes pass and he does not move. He looks almost petrified as if he were the one who took the drug. At the end he does not even know how much time he finally decides to move and clearing his mind he approaches the woman, who with an unexpected gesture grabs the chair, which she was only holding with one hand, and with unprecedented force she throws it at him with a scream.

Jack falls back, losing the scissors for a moment, but he is able to resume immediately and after the first moment of confusion he gets up again, moving towards Irene, who is trying to get up and walk towards the atrium and the exit, but the legs they are too heavy and she can only crawl a few steps. In a moment Jack is over her and taking advantage of her back, before she turns to nail him with those damn eyes, he raises his arm to hit her, but he does not have time to lower his arm, because a sudden gunshot coming from outside the window shatters the glass and hits his wrist, making him scream in pain and fall backwards.

Irene turns to the man behind him and then to the window through which she sees Agent Pendergast, still hold the gun, while the front door opens wide and Sherlock's voice seems to her the most beautiful sound she has ever heard in her life.

 

A few minutes before the race car had stopped with skill, despite the speed, in front of the entrance to the 44 Eaton Square and even before the car stopped, Sherlock and Agent Pendergast were already descending. Through the living room window, they both saw Irene hurl a chair at the man and as Sherlock ran toward the entrance, opening the door, the agent stopped in front of the window, pulling out his gun. Despite the unfamiliar view and distance, hitting the man's wrist before the worst happened was a child's play for him. Years of hunting, before becoming a federal agent, and subsequent training at the shooting range, have honed his perfect aim. With his natural coolness, he did not hesitate for a moment and hit the man in order to stop him but not kill him.

Immediately after shooting, Pendergast followed Sherlock into the house to the living room where he now finds him leaning over Irene, who is obviously drugged but not injured. Jack Moore is on the opposite side of the living room holding his bleeding wrist and his moans are almost unbearable.

"I'm really happy to see you both... and if now you want to help me get up, I promise I will not refuse your support" Irene's voice is breathless as she turns to Sherlock, but on her face there is now an ironic smile, that only partially hides her tension.

Sherlock smiles the same way and supporting her he raises her to help her get up, but at that moment through Irene's legs run abundant clear liquid, followed immediately by streams of blood.

Irene throws a stifled cry clutching Sherlock's hand spasmodically, while the other holds her belly.

Sherlock holds his breath and makes her sit again making her lean against the wall.  
"No... what happens... it's too early... it's too early Sherlock" Irene's voice is barely a whisper and her eyes cannot get away from those blood-red streams, that are now coloring the floor beneath her.  
"Drugs... must be the effect of drugs and agitation," Sherlock replies like an automaton, and at that moment a mad dull rage overwhelms and covers the sudden panic.

Without leaving her side and Irene's hand he looks up at Pendergast.  
"We need to know what drug he used... right away... we cannot wait for the analysis of any residuals on the instruments" his voice is dark and deaf and his look hard and ice is reflected in the equally cold one of Pendergast.

The agent nods and without saying anything turns to the man still on the ground in pain from the blow to the wrist.  
"Dr. Moore I'll ask you one time... the name of the drug... tell me now" he tells the man towering over him with all his disquieting figure.  
"No... I will not tell you anything... kill me as well, agent, this is the end that I had decided for me" the man replies, continuing to complain.

Pendergast takes his gun and in a moment shoots two times to the right and left ankle respectively of the man, who is screaming now even more writhing in pain.  
"I have no intention of killing you... not for now at least. But believe me, I can hit you in thousands of points without damaging any major artery or causing you to die. This will cause you endless pain and you will come to beg me to kill you, so as not to suffer, but I will not do it until you tell me the name of the drug" the voice of Pendergast who speaks to him is calm and terrifying at the same time. The coldness with which he exposes all the points in which he intends to hit him is as disturbing as the pain Jack Moore is feeling and the thought of even greater pain terrifies him. He just wants to die, he deserves to die as others deserve it. All this mental and physical suffering can no longer bear it.  
"Kfen... I injected Kfen, hallucinogen based on ketamine" he manages to say between the tears and the screams and suddenly the pain disappears and everything becomes dark.


	17. Chapter 17

**London - Royal Brompton Hospital - 5 June 2020 - 8.30 p.m.**  
  
So this is what one tries. This feeling of emptiness, the empty mind, the empty heart, the empty body. For him all this is something new. He had tried it but not in such a powerful way. When Sherlock met Irene and she faked her death, seeing what he thought to be her body was a heavy blow. He did not eat for days, everything seemed meaningless and only when she let him know that she was still alive, his appetite returned, immediately after he threw the American, who had attacked Mrs. Hudson, from the window. But then nothing had happened yet. They had never even kissed. Sherlock at that time did not even know yet what he felt and whatever he tried, he also concealed it from himself.

Now everything is different, now he no longer hides those feelings that he has strengthened over the years. Now there are the kisses and the caresses, the passionate and cheerful sex and the sweet one, the cases solved together, their challenges and continuous battles. Now there are memories of how Irene and John have bonded and the times he has seen them discuss how to write the blog of John, now become their blog. There are memories of how Miki has been fascinated by her, how her parents adore her, how everyone loves her, even Molly who once was in love with him. It is her talent, to charm people and to be worshiped. But while in her professional life she has always done it artificially, with him and with all his friends Irene is simply herself and it is impossible not to adore her. Even his brother, who seems to hate her, in reality admires her intelligence and cunning and how she always manages to keep up with him. Losing Irene, losing their daughter, for him now it would be like losing life itself. And the emptiness that he feels in the mind and in the heart is a sensation never experienced in his life.

Sitting in the waiting room of what is probably the best hospital in London, Sherlock with his eyes closed holds his chin resting on his clasped hands and his elbows resting on his legs. He does not move a muscle or speak since they arrived. Everyone around him moves and talks. John, Vincent, Pendergast, Greg, Alex and Molly and even Eleonor. There are all and of course also Miki, who like him is sitting by his side without moving or talking. Pendergast has finished talking to one of the doctors and is confirming to everyone that the hallucinogen was actually the Kfen and therefore the prophylaxis adopted was the correct one. Jack Moore, after Pendergast had hit him with the butt of his gun, regained consciousness and was locked up in a different hospital and under strict surveillance. But of how they are Irene or the child still do not know anything.

Sherlock can no longer listen to them and suddenly, after hours of stillness, he gets up and opens the waiting room window, coming out on the balcony as if he were missing the air. After a while he hears someone behind him and he knows it's John.  
"You cannot do that," he hears him say behind him.  
"John, leave me alone... I need air right now".  
"I know how you feel... remember that I definitely know how you can feel now... and for this I am the only one authorized to tell you that you cannot afford to do so".

Sherlock turns to him sighing but cannot say anything.  
"Sherlock, I know that right now you just want the world to disappear, but you cannot afford it because sitting on that chair there is a little boy who is doing everything to show himself strong, but he is suffering like a dog and he needs you now... and whatever happens... he will continue to need you. So now take a deep breath and do what Irene is now doing for your daughter... fight" John's voice is hard and firm, even though he remembers well how he himself fell into the deepest depression at the death of Mary. But Rosie was so small at the time and she did not understand, so John could therefore afford to give in to his pain. Miki is big, bigger than his thirteen, but not enough to bear the weight and fear of losing someone he loves.

Sherlock closes his eyes for a few seconds, opens them again and after a deep sigh he nods without saying anything. Then he returns to the room and approaches Miki still sitting. He sits at his side and, without saying anything, puts his arm around his shoulders, drawing him towards him.  
"It will be all right... she is a lioness... she will make it" are the only words he can say and, in his mind, he begins to repeat them like a mantra, filling all that painful and unbearable emptiness.


	18. Chapter 18

**London - Royal Brompton Hospital - 6 June 2020 - 3.30 pm**  
  
Sometimes life is really strange. You spend a whole life planning, organizing, controlling, making sure that everything happens exactly as you imagined and organized. Like a puppeteer who moves the strings of his puppets, you spend a whole life making sure that everyone around you does exactly what you want and exactly when you want it. And then everything changes in a moment. A penetrating blue look, those cheekbones almost blatant, those dark and rebellious curls and that damned and charming mind, so sexy and irresistible, and everything changes. No more planning, no more control. Yet Irene would not come back for anything in the world. Because just looking in those eyes she has seen Irene, the real Irene and only with him she felt free to be herself in all her nuances, without ever fearing to lose parts of herself but even finding new ones. And now she is here, in a hospital bed, observing that small body enclosed in a hyperbaric cradle, small and apparently fragile, but with a vitality that already makes it clear the hyperactive character.

Sherlock is leaning over that strange cradle and observes the child while a hand is slipped into the gloved slot that allows him to gently tighten one of her small hands.  
"She's watching me... I think she's happy to see me," he says, and Irene bursts into a light laugh.  
"I do not think she sees anything, you know... she's too small... maybe at most she sees shadows" she says in a voice that is still weak, but still clearer since she woke up in the morning.  
"She is still our daughter... she wanted to be born two months before, I would not be surprised if she could already recognize us" he still says, looking up to smile at her.

At that moment the door of the room opens and John, Eleonor and Miki enter. From the morning they all alternate, maximum two, three at a time, to see how they are both Irene and the child. Alex, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson have been gone for half an hour, while Sherlock's parents have been with them for most of the morning. Mycroft only made a video call, after Sherlock's remarkable insistence, to see his nephew for a moment, before returning to an important meeting he could not miss. Agent Pendergast and Vincent went to greet in the early afternoon, before resuming their path and returning to America, and both Irene and Sherlock thanked them for their basic help.

"Since this morning it seems she has grown more and is more lively... I think she recognizes me now," Miki says, approaching the cradle while smiling at her sister.  
"Oh you two are just the same," Irene laughs, before greeting John and Eleonor, whose belly at five months is already much more prominent than it was hers.  
"But he got away from that cradle from this morning or was he always like that?" John asks Irene, pointing to Sherlock with an ironic but clearly relaxed and serene tone.  
"I'm afraid I'll have to start being jealous if he goes on like this," Irene replies, with the same amused tone.  
"I take this opportunity now that she is closed in this cradle. When she can come out and I'll have to really take her in my arms, I'm not sure that I'll have the same fluency as now" Sherlock answers to both, deciding to remove the hand from the crevice in the cradle, thus leaving the place to Miki.  
"I hope I will not lose that exhilarating moment... I think I'll take it back with my cell phone and then threaten to make it public at the first idiocy that I'll hear you say" the friend giggling "but then... you named her at the end or we have to keep calling her the small one? And then when she grows we do... we call her The Woman... I do not want to create confusion... a name I think would be a good thing" he adds now looking at Irene and Sherlock waiting for their response.

"But Sherlock did not tell you?" Irene asks, raising an eyebrow.  
"Mm... no... it was too funny to see him propose the most absurd names" Sherlock replies, looking at his amused friend.  
"Oh, so you chose it for some time? I hate you... really... I do not just beat you out of respect for your daughter. Then? Can I know it or is it a state secret?" John tells him between exasperated and amused.

"We have already talked with Eleonor and she does not mind... I hope it will not mind you too" Sherlock tells him seriously "dear John, I'll introduce you to your goddaughter... Mary Adler Holmes" he finally adds smiling and when he meets the happy and moved look of his friend, he knows that this was the only name his daughter could ever have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you have reached the end of this story, perhaps you have moved like me on the end. I confess that when I wrote the last sentences I cried like a child. It happened to me also with the previous story and with this even more.
> 
> If only one of you has experienced emotions in reading it, then all of this makes sense
> 
> After this there are still an oneshot and two long stories ... so if you like my stories you will still have to read
> 
> any comment is welcome but anyway I also thank those who do not comment and do not leave kudos but still read what I write


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